


In which the words "diplomatic mission" and "date" are apparently interchangeable

by Eris18



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Footnotes, Kissing, M/M, SO MANY FOOTNOTES, Vetinari is ridiculous, sam is oblivious, this is going to go well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 22:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eris18/pseuds/Eris18
Summary: Either this ambassador needs a better translator, or Vetinari is a sneaky bastard.It's probably both.





	In which the words "diplomatic mission" and "date" are apparently interchangeable

Sam, whilst a nonchalanter[1] of adventure, would be the first to admit that right now he just wanted to be at home. Then again, many people would prefer to be, given that he had been suffering through negotiations he couldn’t even understand[2] for the past four hours.

 

Vetinari, of course, was in his element; he had even joked[3] that this was a holiday for them both. Unfortunately, when their hosts’ Morporkian ambassador had overheard this, it had been mistranslated to ‘honeymoon’. Seeing an advantage[4], Vetinari had distinctly not corrected the situation[5]. Which was why Sam was now holding hands with his boss in an _official negotiation_.  Sam found it difficult enough to cope with Vetinari on a good day, but this was almost too much...and not for the reasons one might think[6].

 

“Samuel, my dear,” Vetinari said, not breaking eye contact with the ambassador across the table. “You will be pleased to hear that it is time to eat, and then retire for the evening.”

 

“Thank f-”

 

“Indeed, _darling_ ,” Vetinari said, making the supposedly affectionate thumb-rubbing he was now doing to Sam’s hand seem like a warning. Sam still felt a slight...flutter?...in his stomach at the feeling; he avoided everyone’s gaze, and tried his usual technique of if-I-deny-that-I'm-blushing-then-I'm-not-blushing.

 

“I believe,” the ambassador said, as the food started to come in, “that ‘honeymoon’ means that you are newly wed?”

 

“That is correct,” Vetinari replied.

 

“In which case...” the ambassador turned to a nearby attendant and whispered something; the attendant nodded and ran to do whatever it was she had been asked. “My apologies, some small rearrangements needed to be made. Please, eat!”

 

It was not until after the meal and pleasantries[7] that said errand became clear, when Sam and Vetinari were shown to a room with one double bed, and duly not separated. Sam had held his tongue until the door was closed, before turning to Vetinari and backing him against a wall with his anger[8].

 

“You _bastard_!” he hissed. “What the _hell_  are you playing at?! I’ve got a wife and son, why would I need a _husband_? Especially one like _you_?!”

 

Vetinari put a hand over Sam’s mouth, effectively stopping his tirade; Sam was tempted to lick it.

 

“Commander,” Vetinari whispered, “this culture values partnership above all. Whilst we may usually have a... _unique amicability_...the idea that they think us married is advantageous. In effect, they will take us more seriously. I have already sent a clacks back to Lady Sybil, so she will understand. In fact, she will probably find it rather amusing[9].”

 

With that, he took his hand away from Sam’s mouth, sidestepped away, and began getting ready for bed.

 

“...Do we honestly have to...?” Sam waved a hand at the bed as he turned around.

 

“We do, Commander,” Vetinari replied. “They will no doubt send spies during the night to check on us, so we must keep up the pretense in every way possible.”

 

Sam sighed, sagging a little, but proceeded to change into his nightclothes.

 

“I refuse to...to... _cuddle_ ,” he said. Vetinari merely arched an eyebrow.

 

“Commander,” and was the bastard _smirking_? “Even you cannot fight your unconscious natural instincts that well.”

 

However right Vetinari might have been, Sam still took the opportunity to mutter angrily about the entire situation as he climbed into bed.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 

The hand-holding in public continued the next day, as had Sam’s confused feelings about it. If you pressed him about it[10], he’d admit that...it felt the same as when he and Sybil held hands.

 

Vetinari had stepped things up that night, after dinner, putting a hand around Sam’s waist as they sat together on a loveseat. Sam tried to write it off as Vetinari having drunk maybe a glass too much wine at dinner.

 

Except Vetinari hadn’t been drinking that night; Sam knew when the Patrician was faking, and he had merely been pretending to sip the wine at dinner.

 

Vetinari was very good at playing the part, Sam thought. In fact, he pretty much had Sam himself convinced. Nearly. A little[11].

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Vetinari had started with the prolonged gazes directly into Sam’s eyes on the third day, apparently deciding to step things up a bit.

 

Sam, being the stubborn bastard he was, stared back only to keep his own sense of honour and ability to say he could match the Patrician gaze for gaze.

 

That was definitely the only reason. There were no ulterior motives at all[12].

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

The fourth night, there had been a ball to mark the negotiations’ good progress. Apparently, Sam and Vetinari were expected to open the dancing, as the guests of honour.

 

As Sam allowed the Patrician to lead him slowly around the ballroom floor, he couldn’t help but wonder: was it really necessary for Vetinari to hold him this close?

 

However, obviously now was neither the time nor place to argue. If Sam was being honest, he...maybe wished that there was more to this than keeping up appearances.

 

Sam took the chance to use his unsteady feet as an excuse to hold back just as tightly. That was the only reason[13].

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 

By the fifth night, Sam had gotten used to the now casual touching, the cupping of his cheek when Vetinari ‘thought no one was looking’[14], and all the other tiny things that Vetinari had been doing to establish the illusion.

 

Sam could admit to himself by now that he wished it was real. He had come to enjoy these moments between them, staged as they were.

 

He almost dreaded the end of the week, when they’d end[15].

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 

For someone so skinny, Vetinari took up a lot of space. The lanky tit was currently sprawled over three-quarters of the double bed they had now been sharing for a week[16]. Usually, Sam would find himself squished into a corner with no available covers.

 

However, this morning was slightly different, in that Vetinari had curled himself around Sam somehow. This was almost the final straw for the Commander, given everything else that had happened this week. At this stage, he wished that Vetinari would either kiss him, or let Sam piss off back home so he could kiss Sybil.

 

Sam took a moment to wonder if Vetinari was telepathic, and spent the next few seconds trying neither to think nor wake the Patrician.

 

“I am already awake, Commander,” Vetinari said, his voice soft, and his mouth right next to Sam’s ear. Instead of letting go, as one would expect, Vetinari pulled Sam closer.

 

“...No one’s watching,” Sam said. “You don’t need to-”

 

He found himself on his back, looking up at an exasperated Vetinari.

 

“So I should either kiss you, or send you home?” The Patrician asked. “And no, I am not telepathic. You mutter when you are particularly annoyed[17].”

 

Sam blinked, not moving.

 

“Well, then,” Vetinari sighed. “Seeing as I do not particularly want to send you home and risk this entire process of negotiations...”

 

And then Sam found himself being kissed rather thoroughly, and pinned to the bed by his wrists. He found himself kissing back and, more importantly, meaning it.

 

Vetinari pulled back slightly, so that when he spoke his lips still moved against Sam’s.

 

“The touches were no mistake,” he said, “nor any elaborate ruse. I would explain, but it would take a while. Let me summarise: I brought you here deliberately, with Sybil’s knowledge and permission. Apparently it was about time we ‘sorted this nonsense out’[18]. So. Shall I continue?”

 

Sam...nodded, and Vetinari kissed him again[19]. A while passed, and the sun rose to shine more confidently through the curtains, into the room. Sam took a brief moment to peek through the gap; it was breakfast time, if the sky was anything to go by.

 

Looking back at the Patrician, he smiled.

 

But then...

 

“Wait,” Sam said. “When you said ‘unconscious natural instincts’, did you mean...?”

 

“Oh, yes, Samuel,” Vetinari replied, smirking. “Whilst your conscious deserves that pseudonym once given to your ancestor, I have been well aware of your _unconscious_  feelings toward me for quite some time. As has Lady Sybil.”

 

There was a small pause as Sam allowed his anger to build to a suitable level.

 

“You _bastard_!” he started to rant. “You _knew_  and you’ve just been playing a _game_  with m-!”

 

Vetinari, in a once again wisely chosen move, had kissed Sam again.

 

Sam...found he did not mind[20].

* * *

[1] A new word, hereby invented by the author, meaning “being one who neither craves nor despises”.

[2] Not for lack of diplomacy, more linguistic skill.

[3] As much as Vetinari ever joked out loud

[4] he always found an advantage somewhere, the sly bastard

[5] Nor had he been kind enough to let Sam know exactly what that advantage was.

[6] Unless, of course, one was a reader and/or writer of fanfiction. The author could go into a long footnote involving ~hidden feelings~ and ~erstwhile emotions~ and ~internal conflict~, but you all know the drill for these sort of tropes. Sam fancied his boss, but he was also married to a brilliant, amazing, beautiful woman. You get the idea.

[7] Though their hosts did not seem to understand that Sam was not one for wine - a situation rectified by some quick translation on Vetinari’s part.

[8] Sam’s rage, more than occasionally, had the ability to make him seem a lot taller than he was.

[9] She definitely would.

[10] Not an easy task, mind you. Sam Vimes really was a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be...which was pretty much all the time unless Sybil asked him to do something.

[11] Sam would never admit that “a little” was actually “a lot”.

[12] This was, as most people would say, complete and utter bollocks.

[13] See previous note re: complete and utter bollocks. Multiply by 5.

[14] ...and knew damn well that they were.

[15] For “almost”, read “definitely”.

[16] As apologetic as Vetinari was, the negotiations needed to continue. Trade routes were trade routes and they were, apparently, more important than Sam getting a decent night’s sleep.

[17] Sybil had mentioned that...and the Watch would never dare.

[18] The full text of that particular clacks had said: “Sam has been pining for over 10 years, Havelock. Either do something about it or tell him for sure that there’s no chance. And it had better be the first one; you and I have waited long enough and I’m not getting any bloody younger!”

[19] More detail could be given about movements and hands and lips, but the author would prefer to keep things somewhat decorous.

[20] In fact, Vetinari would, in private at least, employ this method of stopping Sam from reaching Peak Rage™ for years to come.


End file.
